Awake
by DUNOTS
Summary: Waking up naked, sunburned, and thirsty in a city-sized crater is unfortunate. Not knowing who you are, on the other hand...
1. One

[Brief disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the series. Obviously, Mutant Enemy does. Also, this story is set after the end of the series. If you haven't seen the end of the series, be spoiler-warned. Good Evening.  
  
-Dunots]  
  
Awake: One  
  
"Gu-heh!"  
  
He woke up in the middle of a city-sized crater, naked and hungry. As he moved slightly, he made a mental not to add sunburned to that list.  
  
"Uoouuu-wahhh..." he stated in a voice resembling woodworking.  
  
Funny. He had been aiming for, "Where in fuck's sake happened?" He was somewhat glad that particular sentence never made it out. He had an image to maintain. It was when he stood up that he stopped worrying about that image quite so much.  
  
Nothing but rubble. Sure, some of it showed signs of once being a mall, or a movie theater, or a high school, but all rubble nonetheless. At least there was no one around for him to need privacy from.  
  
High school!  
  
Blinking, he shook off some confusing images. A high school, full of... history? It was more than a little confusing, and more than a lot useless. He had more pressing matters to attend to.  
  
"Yeah, like water," he noted, his thirst both overbearing and oddly foreign.  
  
Squinting and putting a hand to his face, part to keep his hair out of his eyes, part for the benefit of the sun, he looked for signs of some kind of grocer. Or waterworks. Or anything salvagable.  
  
And there, in the distance, was the Green and White sign of a Frissy's Grocery, stabbing up out of the ground like some sort of herald. He would have wrote a sonnet, given the supplies and state of mind.  
  
Instead, he settled for a loping run.  
  
Broken glass bit into his feet, and ash found its way into the wounds. He imagined he must be a pathetic sight, indeed; naked, reddened with sun, leaving a trail of muddy blood in a desperate scramble for survival. The pain seemed unbearable, but somehow, he was bearing it. Rather easily, in fact...  
  
And then he was upon the broken remains of the grocer's, food and supplies teasing him from beneath the rubble. A five gallon drum of drinking water lie cracked, a trickle of water still flowing out of the sides. There was still some of the water inside, plenty to fill his stomach.  
  
Furiously, he wrenched not only the cap, but the entire top half of the bottle off, stuffing the broken end into his mouth. The water tasted like honey to him, clearing away a terrible taste he hadn't even realized was in his mouth. Only when it began to taste of his own blood did he stall, more imagery finding its way to the surface of his mind.  
  
Blood.  
  
Of course, it was due to his hastiness that he had sliced his lip open, but he was confused as to why the taste of blood had given him pause. And then that pause became quite long indeed as he took in his surroundings.  
  
The water had been flowing steadily out of the jug, but it was not empty. That meant that whatever had happened to this town was very recent indeed. He must have only been asleep for an hour or two at most. For whatever reason, he had survived whatever disaster had struck whatever town this was.  
  
And that was when he realized something: he had no idea who he was.  
  
With the pressing matter of thirst removed from his brain, he had the unfortunate composure to wonder what, exactly , was going on. A ruckus of questions invaded his conciousness, only digging more furiously at the blank they found.  
  
Breathing deeply, he said calmly, "Come on, old man, you need some clothes."  
  
Better to think of survival first, and specifics later. A quick scan, and he was able to surmise that there wll some houses outside of the crater. Those would be his best bet for supplies and shelter, if memory served.  
  
The worrisome thing was that he knew full well it didn't.  
  
---  
  
He knew how to make tea.  
  
It was a small comfort after his rather unpleasant and very filthy journey to the literal edge of town, but it was a comfort nonetheless. He had found a house with a few five-gallon jugs of water stockpiled, and gone to work making himself some kind of snack. He wondered if cleaning and clothing himself should be first, but he was damn hungry and damn impatient.  
  
It was with a bit of aplomb that he had his pork and beans and chamomile tea over an open fire. A little scavenging had gone a long way, and he had enough food to last the day in only a few minutes. As he slopped the juicy canned food into his mouth, he had a few moments to reflect further upon this disaster area.  
  
He hadn't seen a single body, living or dead, the whole time. Not in the crater, not in the houses, not on the streets. Additinonally, the houses were missing only a few things, but very critical few things. Appliances, furniture, books... all these remained untouched, only shaken and dusty from whatever shok this land to nothing. Clothes, however, were in much more short supply. A few suitcases actually lie open, half full and abandoned.  
  
He could only surmise that the populace had left before whatever had caused this devastation. Something to be thankful for, he supposed, both because of the obvious moral issues, and the more pertinent survival issues. Had they done a more thotough job of exit, he might have had a harder time finding what he needed.  
  
Dropping the tin of beans, and setting the teacup gently on the saucer, he picked up two five-gallon jugs, one in each hand, and ambled lightly into the nearest unexplored house. He needed a bath.  
  
It was more a sponge bath than anything else, but it was very refreshing. He had used up almost a whole jug, but he was certain he would find more. And in any case, he had no plans on staying any longer than he had to. He hadn't seen any cars, but there had to be some kind of transportation, and as soon as he found it, he would drive to the nearest town and...  
  
"And what?" He asked himself, interrupting his train of thought, "Ask kindly if anyone would be so kind as to tell you who you are?"  
  
He had been absentmindedly looking through some toiletries, and he shook his head as he found the razor he had been looking for. Closing the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet, he took a look at himself for a moment, the feeling somehow eerie.  
  
Thin, with cheeks ready to cave in. Brown hair, about two inches long, easily pushed back with water. A scar over one eye, through a particularly dark eyebrow. The red of his skin belied its previous pale color. And his stubble was nigh-on nonexistant.  
  
"Glad I made the effort..." he groused, holding onto the razor and shaving cream. Shaving would have at least given him something to do, a little more time before he had to wonder about...  
  
Clothes. He had to find more clothes. So far he wore only a pair of discarded jeans, but he would definitely need more than that. With a sigh and a glance at his newfound razor, he set off to get ready to leave.  
  
---  
  
Finding a backpack was actually harder than he had anticipated. In retrospect, however, it seemed fairly logical for people leaving in a hurry to take backpacks with them. In the end, he had found a Hello Kitty backpack in the back of a girl's closet, and that was good enough for him.  
  
A few change of clothes, that tea set he had used earlier, some food supplies, the razor and cream, and a shoebox-borne handgun were roughly forced into the backpack, slung on his back tightly. In either hand was a five gallon jug of water, the dense liquid shockingly light, once he got to thinking about it. A lost wallet sat snugly in his back pocket, and about forty dollars (and Frank J. Cumbersworth's Identifications) sat snugly inside that.  
  
All in all, he was ready to find some way out. Stretching slightly in his nondescript t- shirt and jeans, he shook some exhaustion out of his frame and went on the hunt. The main problem with this was that he had no idea if he would be able to find a car, or a motorcycle, or a scooter, or anything he could use to propel himself to the next settlement, assuming there was one.  
  
Logically, everyone should have left, and taken their motors with them. And beyond that, how would he be able to start the damn thing. Of course, he had nothing but time on his hands. The main problem with this was that he would start... thinking.  
  
"Ah!" he shouted, looking about a mile down the road, "Thank flipping heavens!"  
  
Of course, just because he could see what he thought was a car didn't mean he was instantly there. He still had to walk to it. Still had to wait. Still had to ponder. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he broke into a run, his stolen tennis shoes softly smashing into the asphault road. Better to tire himself out physically than mentally.  
  
The surprising part was that he was barely winded by the time he got there, even with the water. He didn't know hide not hair of his own past, but he sure as hell knew that wasn't normal. The silver lining of enhanced strength and stamina was somewhat undercut by the big nasty, confusing cloud of forgotten memories it surrounded.  
  
His questions could wait, however, until he got out on the road, and to get on the road, he had to get into the car. Dropping the jugs, he headed into the house, looking next to the wide-open front door. There, as he had hoped, was a set of keys on a nail. The car was too old to have an alarm, which might have explained why it was left in the first place. Why bring the old clunker when you can skate out of town in the new car?  
  
"Oh, balls."  
  
The engine was uncooperative at best. With a coughing, grinding noise, it tried over and over to sputter to life, coming irritatingly close a number of times. While infinitely vexing, it was less than surprising. Why bring the old clunker, indeed? Of course, if the car didn't work, there wouldn't have been a newish-looking magazine in the back seat, next to the jugs of water.  
  
It was ten or fifteen tries later, but the car eventually churned to life, his foot quickly finding the gas pedal. He wanted to get moving as fast as possible, hoping to avoid the damn thing stalling out straight away. To be denied salvation so close to resolution...  
  
And then he was on the highway, driving to god knows where.  
  
---  
  
Salvation grasped \ A flittering moth \ Bloodiedly clasped \ A quavering cough.  
  
He had made that up while driving, the first verse of a fairly long poem. He seemed to have an affinity for it, and it kept his mind off of other things. Currently, he was trying to think of a rhyming couplet for,  
  
Downtrodden duellist \ Silent and burdened \ A hidden jewellist \ ...  
  
He just needed a word that meant glowing. Problem was, it had to rhyme. Shining? Bright? Effulgent?  
  
Effulgent.  
  
Effulgent.  
  
Oh. Effulgent.  
  
And there it was. His life. It felt like his memories were pouring back, but that wasn't true. They had always been there. It was more like a haze was pouring away, the cloudy water draining from the fishbowl. Making the effulgent pearl visible again.  
  
"William Crawford," he breathed, "Of London, England."  
  
His times in London with Mum. The obsession with Cecily. The poetry, oh the poetry. His glasses, his papers, his introversion, his rejection. William the Bloody creeping into a back alley, tears in his eyes. Her mysterious face, radiant in black. Teeth in his neck, fading to...  
  
A blinding sun in a crater.  
  
As happy as he was a moment ago, he was equally distraught once he realized a few simple facts. One: He had never seen a car before. Two: He was driving a car. Three: This was distinctly Not His Time.  
  
"Four," he growled, "When the bloody bollocks did I start talking like this?"  
  
It was with more questions than answers that he saw the sign:  
  
Los Angeles - 42. 


	2. Two

Awake: Two  
  
"The cause of the collapse is as yet unknown," Theresa Stevenson-Vasquez said smoothly, "And authorities warn the residents of southern california to be ready for earthquakes at all times. More information after these messages."  
  
William couldn't help but chuckle over his hamburger. He'd have been more surprised if the powers that be knew anything more about that city than he did. At least now he didn't have to worry about pretending not to know about the crater. And at least now he knew the name of the demolished town.  
  
"Weird affair, that Sunnydale place," he noted to the waitress behind the bar of the truck stop, "Saw it with my own eyes on the way here."  
  
The waitress, a tired-looking thirty-something with an "Anna" nametag, turned to him with rather A Look on her face. "Guess you foreigners don't know..."  
  
"Don't know?" he asked, noticing the heavy difference between their accents.  
  
"Whole damn town up and took off a couple weeks back," she explained, pouring him some more coffee, "Said there were 'unexplained occurances,' or something. Nobody's wanted a piece of that place for a while now. Most travelling folk give it a nice, wide berth..."  
  
Raising a hand to signal her to halt her pouring, he remarked, "Yeah, hadn't heard about that. Bein' English an' all."  
  
"I gotta wonder," she asked with a smile, "What's a guy like you doing down that way, anyway?"  
  
"Hell if I know..."  
  
Nodding knowingly, Anna offered, "Yeah, know what you mean. It gets that way sometimes, huh?"  
  
---  
  
The speculations began again at Thirty-five miles to Los Angeles, and this time he didn't try to stop them by diving into a truck stop. He needed a game plan, and he needed it soon. Unless things had changed drastically in the last 123 years, he'd need room, board, and some way to pay for it.  
  
A hundred and twenty years.  
  
It was still pretty unbelievable. Obviously, it was the year 2003, and obviously he'd been around for a while. He knew how to work the car, when even knowing what one was surprised him. Or actually, it hadn't. The most shocking part about the affair was his complete lack of shock. He would have speculated that he had been somehow ripped from the grave, if not for that part.  
  
"Maybe I'm a bleedin' immortal," he speculated, "Cutting off heads and all that lot." For some reason, he had found that amusing. Lord only knew why.  
  
And there it was again. It was like there was a hole in his memory, and he could only make out the shape of what was missing. Everything he did only served to infuriate him further. Hell, his unexplained fury infuriated him. He never got so angry before. He was nice, and polite, and friendly, and an utter poof.  
  
At the same time as he knew that he was, in fact, pathetic in his past, he wondered just how he knew that. He never felt like he was such a poor excuse for a man. He knew that he was just being proper. And yet he also had some kind of innate knowledge that he was wrong. That he wasn't half of who he would become.  
  
"There's a goddamn continent missin' here, and it's right pissin' me off!" He complained, the last few words growing into a roar as her shook the steering wheel with his whole body.  
  
He couldn't handle it. He couldn't think about it. Not now. Not when he had to find somewhere to stay. Too bad he didn't know anyone in L.A.  
  
Too bad he didn't know anyone anywhere.  
  
---  
  
"Got any I.D.?"  
  
William smiled ironically. "Not my own," he answered, presenting Frank's driver's license.  
  
The mustachio'd man clicked his tongue a few times and looked up and down, from license to man. William didn't know what was going on, and didn't really care. He'd been through this scenario before, trying to find somewhere to stay the night. The first three motels had turned him away due to his false identification, and he had given up on presenting himself as Frank at this point.  
  
"Frank here know you got his wallet?"  
  
"Probably not," William admitted, "But he must be a good friend of mine to let me use it, yeah?"  
  
The owner jolted back as a large, low laugh fell out of his mouth. "Friends call me Jacob," he said, the smile beneath the mustache threatening to overrun someone else's face, "You got thirty bucks, I got a room for you."  
  
William found that the man's smile was, after all, catching, and sighed in relief, "Thank's Jacob, you got no id-"  
  
"EY!" Jacob snapped, freezing in the middle of taking the money, "I said friends call me that. Customers call me Tangerine."  
  
It was a few moments of William's confusion and Jacob's transaction before William responded. "Why?"  
  
"It's my last name, dipwidth."  
  
---  
  
Frank J. Cumbersworth had friends in Los Angeles.  
  
Fairly soon after settling into his room, William had found himself rifling through the lost Wallet, not knowing what to expect. Of course, there were the family pictures, and the business cards, and the credit cards (cancelled, he soon found out), as well as the (also cancelled) bank card. But, among all the effluvia wallets seemed to gather, was something useful.  
  
A scrap of folded paper with names, addresses, and phone numbers on it was tucked ito the middle part, scrawled with the care that comes with forgetfulness. Tomorrow morning he would call some of them, tell them he had got ahold of Frank's wallet before he left Sunnydale, and that he only just found the piece of paper with the numbers on it. He'd leave out the part where he tried to use Frank's credit cards and call it honesty.  
  
---  
  
"I'm terribly sorry to hear about Sunnydale," Tanya soothed, "I'm glad you made it out... in time."  
  
"Yeah, same here," William replied noncomittally.  
  
She looked down at the wallet in her hands, their coffees cooling on the table next to them. "Once again, thank you for bringing this to me. It was very honest of you."  
  
He had to stifle a bit of a smile at that. If Franky boy expected to get his money back, he had another think coming. "There was a bit of cash in there," He added, throwing caution to the wind, "But I had to use it to get a room last night. Got nowhere to go since Sunnydale..."  
  
Hey, it was probably true.  
  
"Oh, that's alright. I won't tell Frank if you won't," Tanya conspired, moving in a little closer.  
  
It was then that William realized that he was attractive to women.  
  
He had to make a concious effort not to say, "Oh yeah." The slightly prideful smirk still made its way to his face, though. And judging from decently-attractive Tanya, she liked it. Or maybe she thought he was smirking about the money thing.  
  
"So, Tanya," he said lightly, "What's your story? Don't wanna be rude, but, I just kinda wondered."  
  
She was an office lady, and she worked for a Law Firm. She'd met Frank through her brother, who was Frank's best friend. She liked dogs, and was single. Oh, how she was single. Just waiting for the right man to come along and settle down, she was. Single, and, oh, she had a good secretarial job. And what did William do for a living?  
  
"Uh..." It was a good question, "I'm a poet by choice, bit of a traveler by trade."  
  
Something flashed across her eyes which he couldn't pin down as particularly good or bad. "Oh, how European!"  
  
Bloody fucking colonials.  
  
"Do you have any of your poems?"  
  
"Oh, they're all sodding awful," he said without a moment's hesitation, "Why I didn't have a good go as a poet."  
  
"Oh," Tanya replied uneasily, "I'm sorry to hear that..."  
  
William chuckled and mumbled to himself, "Not as sorry as I was."  
  
After a few seconds of sipping at her coffee, she brushed the hair away from her neck and stated plainly, "I could get you work."  
  
Oh. Thank. God.   
  
He hadn't known what he was hoping for when he decided to return the wallet, but now that she had offered him a job, he knew godamn well that's what he was hoping for. He'd be able to at least survive. Then he could deal with trying to figure everything out.  
  
"Really?" he said excitedly, barely managing to hide it, "Your law firm?"  
  
Tanya smiled warmly, as though she trusted him. Something told him that wasn't very wise, but no point in telling her that, was there?  
  
"Well," she sipped, "We have a problem keeping people in the mailroom. Guess most don't want to stay on the bottom of the ladder."  
  
Almost smiling, William added, "Yeah, I can see how that could go. Lucky you, I don't aspire to be Matlock any time soon."  
  
Who's Matlock?  
  
---  
  
"An advance?" Constantine Tristaple said quizzically, "It's unusual, but not unheard of."  
  
William apologized, "Sorry, but I've got to pay the rent, and now. Don't worry, though, I need this job too much to try and split with the dough."  
  
"No, it's fine, just unusual. So, do you have your social security card, or green card?"  
  
"Uh..." Shit. "They were, ah, lost in Sunnydale. Big collapse, big problem, you know."   
  
Might be true.  
  
Constantine smiled slyly and lifted a finger with one hand as he lifted a phone with the other. "Deborah? Pull up whatever you can on mister William Smith Crawford, out of London, England. He lost his, ah, Identification in Sunnydale. ... Thank you."  
  
And with a click, the finger came down.  
  
"It'll just be a moment," Constantine said nicely, "We are a law firm after all; we can pull up your records easily. Good thing you came to us, WIlliam, can I call you that?"  
  
"What? Yeah."  
  
There was a fairly wierd silence until the little light on the phone blinked and Constantine picked the reciever up.  
  
"Tristaple," he said confidently, "Yes? Good. Good. Yes. Good? GOOD. Yes, good. Goo- yes? ... Good. Thank you."  
  
And that was that.  
  
"That was that," he smiled, "Just fill out the paperwork they fax me, and you can go on down to the mail room."  
  
Both men stood, Tristaple a tower of grinning, confident man hidden behind that desk. He offered a broad hand, his skin smooth looking and unicolored. He also didn't have fingernails. Warily, WIlliam took him hand and shook it, actually straining to match the compression this man was using.  
  
"Thanks," William grunted.  
  
Constantine smiled and let go of William's hand, bringing both hands out in a somewhat inviting gesture. "Welcome to Wolfram and Hart," he said with a crooked grin. 


	3. Three

William had quickly learned not to trust.  
  
It was his weeks at Wolfram and Hart that had done it, and for that he was grateful. While on the surface, they seemed to be an ordinary Monolithic Law Firm, he was clever enough to be able to see the dark shadows behind the screens.  
  
That, and he read people's mail.  
  
"Crawford," that deep, cheerful, and oh-so-threatening voice sounded from behind him, "Don't let us down."  
  
William turned around, halting his incessant pushing of the cart he'd gotten to know and pity. Tristaple grinned and shot him a thumbs-up, still sipping on his coffee. Man was a god damn corporation.  
  
"I'll deliver this mail right, uh," he returned, wishing he had better chosen his words, "Right."  
  
As Constantine turned around, picking up some memos, he called, "We're counting on you, tiger."  
  
Sighing and falling back into the repetition, William headed for the elevator. He was sure there were worse jobs, and he knew he should be thankful, but... He was sure that every working body felt the way he did.  
  
Trapped. Isolated. Examined. Goaded. Placated.  
  
"Don't grouse," he chided himself, the elevator doors gliding closed, "Gives you time to think."  
  
And that, it most definitely did. One of the first things he'd thought about was the fact that they had pulled up his papers. His citizenship papers. Assume that he was, in fact, over a hundred and forty years old, that was just a bit suspect. Perhaps he'd immigrated and acheived citizenship in his forgotten years. Maybe he'd just never aged, never died, never been taken off the records.  
  
Maybe Wolfram and Hart was lying.  
  
He'd seen a few things: a clause in a contract he'd spied on a desk, People with eyes The Wrong Color. He saw things others didn't, probably couldn't. He seemed to have better senses, and the worrisome things was that the higher-ups probably goddamn knew.  
  
Ding. Your floor, jerk.  
  
Of course, these were all things he didn't have the time or space to deal with. He had his own issues to deal with, and the things he had seen were probably normal, anyway. In the end, normal was the only thing anyone could be, anyway.  
  
And that was the second thing he had thought. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that his memories were most likely lies. The simplest answer was most often, the right answer. Someone had said that, and he would be glad when he remembered who. Even with all the bizarre circumstances (Most notably his awakening) leading to his memory loss, it was still a lot more easy to swallow delusions than apparent immortality.  
  
Perhaps he was in an experiment. Maybe that explained his enhanced strength and senses. Maybe he'd been left in Sunnydale, forgotten, but too tough to die. Hell, he was far too poor a poet to ever have received any modicum of success. His mamories of Victorian London lacked a certain amount of credibility... Whatever the case, the only thing he was reasonably sure about was his name, and even that had some number of doubts.  
  
"Got your package in," he said offhandedly as he entered the office.  
  
It was only the second or third time he'd had business in this particular office, but he and the owner had hit it off decently well, and talked sometimes. It was good to have a friendly face and a familiar accent at the workplace.  
  
Wesley looked up from the musty tome he was poring over and motioned to a teacup as he began pouring over it. "Thank you, William. Care for a cup?"  
  
"Don't mind if I do," William replied, flopping down into the seat across the endtable, "Find what you'd been looking for?"  
  
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce came off as a very quiet, reasonable fellow, and maybe just a bit coddled. Well, sometimes. William had taken a good look at the man, and seen that there was something else there. There was rage, and there was some hope, and there was a hell of a lot of inexplicable strength.  
  
He also knew enough to stay just a bit unshaven. How he did it, though, was anybody's guess. Musta got some special tough-guy razor.  
  
Wesley sighed and rubbed his temples. "Lagest archive in the world, you'd think they'd have something more on the Shan..." he trailed off, looking a little prissy in his caution, "Versus Chang case. Yes. Very influential, but, ah, little known?"  
  
In the end, William couldn't help but bve amused by Wesley. "Yeah, think I heard of that one."  
  
"Oh. Very good. So, um, how are things with that woman? Tanya?" Wesley asked, obviously anxious to change the subject.  
  
WIlliam had to smile at that. "Nice girl. She'd be a lot more appealing if it weren't for the constant ringing."  
  
"Ringing?"  
  
"Bloody biological clock goin' off like no tomorrow," he emphasized with a hand gesture like an explosion, "Not really ready to get into kids right now..."  
  
"What is is?" Wesley asked as William stifled a chuckle.  
  
"Just thinkin' that I shouldn't go runnin' into anything big when I don't even really know who I am yet, yeah?"  
  
Wesley nodded appreciatively and replied, "Very true..."  
  
William really enjoyed doing that.  
  
---  
  
"Evenin', Tangerine."  
  
"Evenin', Crawford."  
  
Willam paused on the way to his room and turned back to the continually amused man. "You know, you can go ahead and call me William."  
  
"Yeah, but you can't call me Jacob yet, so I figure tit for tat, right?"  
  
Cocking his head slowly, William considered that with a deep breath. "You are the strangest man, Tangerine."  
  
"'S not me. 'S the world," he smiled.  
  
As he was about to start walking again, realization struck him, and he turned once again. "Oh, I need to talk with you about business."  
  
"I try not to let business interfere with my work, but fire away," Jacob invited.  
  
William leaned over, against the counter between them, pushing some of his brown hair back to its friends. "I figure I'll be clearin' out pretty soon. Got a decent job, enough credit to take out a little loan or two, god knows how, and just bein' honest, livin' here isn't cheap."  
  
"It's a motel," Tangerine raised an eyebrow, "You're not really breaking my heart, here."  
  
"Yeah, well, all the same, you been good to me, so I figure I ought to give you a heads-up," he said somewhat quickly, "Plus, if you know any decent flats around..."  
  
Jacob Tangerine grinned, inhuman in its scope, but utterly friendly. "Oh, I'm sure I can dig something up for a friend."  
  
"Thanks, Jacob."  
  
"No problem, William."  
  
---  
  
"Dear, I fear we're facing a problem," Tanya look William in the eye, the rest of the room dark, "You love me no longer, I know, and..."  
  
She paused for a split second, breathing in and filling with emotion, "Maybe there is nothing that I can do to make you to."  
  
He couldn't help but look her in the eye as she went on, not skippikng a beat.  
  
"Mama tells me I shouldn't bother... That I ought to stick to another man. A man that surely deserves me..." and after a second her eyes lit up, and she finished, "But I think you do."  
  
"And so, I cry, I pray and I beg," someone seemed to whisper behind them.  
  
And then Tanya belted out, "Love me, Love me! Say that you love me..."  
  
God, he hated Karaoke. Well, more accurately, he wanted to hate karaoke. It was sweaty, and drunken, and awkward, and exhibitionist, and all manner of cries for attention. It was utterly revilable, but oh-so-enjoyable. He'd already tried out a few tunes, and he'd found that he had a pretty decent set of pipes. Never really tried that in his previous life.  
  
Or previous set of lies, he reminded himself.  
  
Still, he was fairly conflicted, and for a lot of different reasons. He'd have thought that the inner turmoil would become old hat after a time, but apparently that's not the was it works. Fancy that. In the meantime, he'd wonder what to do about Tanya and her increasing affections. And then there was the matter of Wolfram and Hart's confusing dealings and shadowy actions. Of course, his whole past and identity remained in question.  
  
And most importatnly, he had to decide what he thought of karaoke.  
  
"Not the best voice down here, eh?" a voice came from his left.  
  
He turned to see the owner of the bar sitting next to him, wearing a smart suit and a knowing look. He was a fairly odd-looking guy, but who wasn't in a dark bar?  
  
William almost smiled and downed another shot of bourbon. "Yeah, well, it's not the voice I'm worried about..."  
  
Shrugging, the barkeep replied, "It's true. It's the intent you have to watch out for. I think there's a little too much to that song she's picked, William."  
  
Scoffing, William turned to the dapper man and shot, "Sorry, mate, can't imagine you bein' big with the lady troubles."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Laughing as he seemed to take offense, William continued, "No offense, but you're 'bout as queer as a door in the ceiling."  
  
Looking away, he said humorously, "You got me there, Willy. I've still seen plenty of women troubles, so don't discount me just yet."  
  
"Yeah, I know," William sighed, "Don't worry. I'll try not to break her heart too bad."  
  
Knowingly, the barkeep layed a hand on William's shoulder. "Something tells me that problem's going to come up a lot."  
  
"Feh. Thanks, Drew."  
  
"Anytime, Willy."  
  
And the Drew was gone, retreating to take care of other customers who needed sooth advice, or possibly sooth alcohol. After a moment of staring at her emptily, Tanya stepped off the starge, smiling and sweaty. Too bad she was somewhat a looker.  
  
"How'd you like it?" she asked, taking his hand in her own.  
  
He smiled half-heartedly and answered, patting her hand, "'S a good song, and you gave it life."  
  
She cocked her head, and from the way she looked at him, he could just hear the, "Awwww..." going through her head. Oh, bollocks, what had he done? Now anything he did to get this bint off his tail was just going to make him look bad. Best to quit when you're behind.  
  
"Say," he said resolutely, "I'd better be off. I got some apartments to look at tomorrow morning. Gotta get my life together, an' what lot."  
  
"Are you sure you want to go back to that little motel?" she said sweetly, "It's not really a nice place."  
  
"Er..." Er...  
  
Leaning in close she smiled winningly, the coming come-on somehow wholesome, "You could sleep at my place. Then I can help you look around tomorrow. It's always better with someone else."  
  
"Uh..." Uh...  
  
She was still smiling, and that wholesome thing was beginning to lose some of its stayng power. It was somewhat a bad situation. He had to do something, think of...  
  
"Booze!" he shouted.  
  
"Booze?" she asked.  
  
William pointed at the half-empty bottle of bourbon they'd been sharing and pleaded, "Yeah, I mean, we're both kinda drunk, and wouldn't wanna do anythin' we'd regret come mornin', right?"  
  
He neglected to inform her that he had drank the lion's share of that half. He could only hope she was too drunk to know better.  
  
Pouting she looked down, and he could actually see the secretary in her well up to the surface. "You're... probably right. You're a good man, William. Thank you."  
  
"Heh, heh..." He didn't feel all that chivalrous.  
  
Standing, he had to get out. He had to get away from this mess before it really did get sour. "Right, well, I'm gonna be off. I had a lovely time, we'll do it again next friday."  
  
"Thank you, William," she said, standing to meet him.  
  
And then, as he was about to go, she kissed him on the lips, and all he could do was just kind of go along.  
  
"Right..." he noted as she pulled back, a sheepish look on her face.  
  
"Night," she called as he walked away.  
  
---  
  
"Grah," he said to the door.  
  
The last thing he knew, he was laying in his bed and feeling bad about the whole Tanya affair. Thankfully, he had a couple of days to think about what to do. Or, more accurately, try to avoid it.  
  
Also, his shoes were still on, and his feet felt absolutely terrible.  
  
Just as he was wondering why he had talked to the door, a knock came from it, answering his question. Standing unhappily, he shook some of the grogginess of and opened the door, mumbling, "Hello?"  
  
And there she was, giving him a look of pure business. Hopefully she was here on work, not pleasure. Of course, knowing his luck...  
  
"Hello, William. Can I come in?"  
  
Gesturing inside and wiping sleep from his eyes, he yawned something like yes.  
  
"I stopped by because I have a proposal for you," she said curtly, sitting in the only chair in the room.  
  
It was with some curiosity that he sat down and looked at her. It was also with some relief that he removed his shoes. "Yeah? Do tell, miss-"  
  
"Just call me LIlah," she soothed.  
  
--- 


	4. Four

[As this, the fourth and final chapter of Awake goes up, I wanted to thank everyone who posted reviews. I hadn't expect, well, any, really, so it was very encouraging that so many people actually read this.   
  
And to anyone who suggests story elements that later come to pass: Thanks, but I don't generally use suggestions from reviews, unless they're really very good, or call out to me, in which case I've probably already decided on it anyway. The Wesley, thing, for example. I think it's pretty generally agreed that Spike and Wesley would get along fairly well.  
  
In any case, I lied, and this isn't the final chapter. There's a lot more I want to do with this, and a lot more resolution to withold.  
  
-DUNOTS]  
  
"So, what's the deal, Lilah?" William said confrontationally, mocking emphasis on her name.  
  
This woman had the gall to come into his place of residence on one of his precious saturdays and try to talk business. She was gonna get, and she was gonna get it bad. Not a single smarmy remark would go unturned. No sir.  
  
She sighed and pulled some papers out of her breifcase. "I'm sure you've figured out by now that we... know about you."  
  
Oh. Very well, then. Don't look shocked. Keep a straight face. No, a knowing face! You've had suspicions, that's close enough to the truth. Whatever you do, do not let these people get the upper hand.  
  
When he didn't say anything. she went ahead and continued, laying some sheets of heavily printed paper on his endtable. "I'm sure you've also figured out that we know more than you do. We'd like to help you with that."  
  
He couldn't help but laugh at that. It was just too good. "Oh, right," he rolled his eyes, "you act like I haven't been workin' there. I've seen what you people are up to."  
  
If she cared, she was putting on a pretty good show of the opposite. She looked him more directly in the eye and stated simply, "We expect something in return, of course. Nothing for free in this world."  
  
"Yeah, I get the feeling I know that better than you think," he growled, "What is it you want me for?"  
  
Calmly, she pointed at a folder underneath the papers on his endtable. "The specifics are listed inside. The basics, however... We need someone to handle special tasks. Someone strong. Someone smart. Someone we can trust."  
  
He opened up the folder, scanning some of the terms inside. "Trust? Bollocks to that. What you want is someone who doesn't know better. I'm guessing my, how'd you write it?" he mused, pointing at a certain passage, "'Atypical strengh, stamina, and senses' were just a nice little bonus.  
  
"And I bloody well know what you mean by 'Special Tasks,'" he drawled, still angry enough to continue, "I'm to go and collect payment from people who try to shaft you lot, aren't I? Or, wait, look at this... An agent of Mr. Angel, to try and help the helpless, it says."  
  
She almost looked pleased with herself. Very, very nearly.  
  
"Oh," he noted, "You sure that isn't just a typo? Maybe you meant, 'Help the harmful?'"  
  
Standing, Lilah straightened her skirt and explained, "All the terms are in those papers. Be sure to look over the contract carefully. Come and see me on Monday, at nine o'clock, and return the papers."  
  
And she was striding out, confident and smart.  
  
"Signed or not."  
  
---  
  
Jacob Tangerine's eyes slid over the words, his trademark grin conspicuously absent. More often than not, he would use a thick red pen to strike out a line, or grunt thoughtfully about something. Eventually, the final page of the contract turned over, and he was done.  
  
"It's safe," he said solemnly.  
  
William grabbed the papers offerend, and took a scan through them. About ninety per cent of what was written had been struck through, rejected by Tangerine. "This much?"  
  
Jacob nodded coldly. "I dealt with these folk before. Lotta things you want to avoid in there. Especially the posthumous bits."  
  
"Posthumous?" William asked, a little shocked, "The hell you say!"  
  
Jacob pointed at a pertinent line and corrected, "The hell I do say. Look there."  
  
Sure enough, there was a clause about continued employment, even after death, regardless of the party's afterlife location. They would, in fact, pull him out of hell.  
  
"I'm taking a lot on faith, Jacob," he scowled, "How can I goddamn believe any of this?"  
  
Tangerine looked past him for a moment, something clicking in his head. After a few seconds of pondering, he turned and gave a follow-me gesture. Wary, WIlliam strode after him into Jacob's bedroom, not dislike the others at the motel.  
  
"I got a feeling you're not like the rest of 'em, either," Tangerine smiled, "seein' as Wolfram and Harts wants you so bad. So, hey, what harm is there in showing you what I look like?"  
  
"What are you..."  
  
And his grin grew, and grew, and seemed to go all the way around. His face split at the mouth, the parody of a smile curving around his gums. Several rows of teeth shone from inside that gaping maw, and his tongue seemed to glow at the end.  
  
"... doing?"  
  
Shrugging, Jacob smiled something like sincerely. "Hey, not all us demons are such bad guys. Us Tangoranegri demons, for example. Sure, we eat anything that can fit in our mouths. That's a lot, but it sure ain't people."  
  
William wanted to speak. Really, he did.  
  
"Plus," Jacob chuckled, a profound experience for anyone who saw it, "You people don't fall for the hypnotizing light on the tongue."  
  
"You're... a demon," William choked out, instincts calling out for him to run.  
  
Oddly, however, the instincts wanted him to run forward and pummel the holy hell out of the demon. He must have been an odd sort of guy.  
  
Jacob shrugged and continued, "Anyway, a lot of demons hang around this earth, and you probably knew it before you went wonky. Just wanted to show that a lot of us bad guys are miles better than some human types. Wolfram and Hart, for one..."  
  
William was beginning to gain his nerve again, and asked, "So you think I should turn them down?"  
  
"Nah," Tangerine smirked, "Bring the contract in like this, and make 'em give it the ok. Tell 'em you won't sign it otherwise. THey want you that bad, they'll say okay. They don't, you get to walk away with your soul."  
  
"And that's a real worry," William asked earnestly, "Losing my soul?"  
  
Jacob looked at him knowingly and answered, "One day you'll learn that's a real precious commodity."  
  
---  
  
Picking out flats was very irritating. They weren't interesting, and it was, on the whole, hard to imagine what they would look like when lived-in. He would rather have been taken into apartments already rented out. That way, he could tell how much could fit in one.  
  
Additionally, they kept trying to give him second and third floor rooms. He found himself put off by the idea of anything above ground level. Chalk it up to acrophobia, he figured.  
  
"We do have one more, but I don't know if you'd want it," the woman explained.  
  
William leaned his head forward and looked from under his brow.  
  
"Right this way..."  
  
He could see why others might be turned off by the apartment. It was built on, or rather, cut into a sort of a hill, so there was a wall on one side, as though the apartment were actually underground. It would be a pain for moving, what with the awkward stairs. Also, he was sure that it would have the highest chance of flooding.  
  
But...  
  
"I like it," he answered a question she hadn't asked.  
  
Blinking, she explained, "You haven't seen the inside yet."  
  
"Same as all the others," he assumed, "Best I'm gonna get. Go ahead and sign me up."  
  
She shrugged and they began to make their way back to the leasing office. No point turning down a customer.  
  
---  
  
"I'm sorry about Friday," the message said, "I got ahead of myself. Do you want to have some coffee? My treat."  
  
Sigh. That Tanya, always making things harder on him. Just when he'd decided that it was the worst idea, that he had to distacne himself from her... Just when he'd thought he could get away...  
  
He picked up the phone and dialed her number, resignation being stronger than nervousness.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey," he said into the reciever, "It's me. You wanna go get that coffee tomorrow?"  
  
She said yes, and it was very yes.  
  
"Right. two-thirty. Bye."  
  
---  
  
Sunday was a bullshit day. He'd figured that one out on the first monday working at Wolfram and Hart. It was like the weekend, but too close to Monday for comfort. Things had a tendency to impose themselves on Sundays.  
  
"Hi," she greeted, standing from the outdoor table she was seated at. Funny, wasn't that supposed to go the other way 'round?  
  
"Sorry I'm a little late," he apologized, "Lot on my mind."  
  
She looked downcast at that comment, and he realized she must have thought it was pointed at her. To be fair, most of it wasn't.  
  
"Hey, wait, not you...." he winced, knowing that wasn't exactly the best thing to say.  
  
She screwed up her face in this cute sort of little-kid-pondering thing she did from time to time, setting her coffee down. "William, are you threatened by me?"  
  
"No," yes, very much so, you're a walking marriage, and it's all I don't need, god you scare the-, "Why do you ask?"  
  
"You've been weird lately... like you don't want to be around me."  
  
Oh, god, she was onto him. He had to do something, say something. And no more lies, no more half-truths. "It's not you. It's me."  
  
"That had damn well better be the case," she snapped, startling William, "Because I'm tired of that one."  
  
Yeah, she probably was. "Well, I've had a lot going on. I mean, I just got out of a city that fell into the earth."  
  
She seemed to concede that point.  
  
"Gettin' a new flat's wierd. Been a while since I've lived alone," he said, hoping it to be true. "'S a big step."  
  
She nodded. Things seemed to be going well.  
  
"And this job," he explained, starting to get into it, "I'm so thankful for it, but... It's wierd. I see things I don't want to. And now they want to, uh, promote me."  
  
Her eyes lit up, and he thought he saw jealousy for a split second. "Promotion? Already? Isn't it a bit early for that?"  
  
"Hey, that's what I thought, eh?" he replied, "It is a bit early for that. But they seem to want it, and it's probably a better gig anyway. I still don't know if I'll accept, though."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Wow. He couldn't speak for a moment, and it was somewhat surprising. He'd been thinking about things so much that he had forgotten such a simple question.  
  
"I'm sure you can do it," she continued, "And even if it doesn't go well, you're strong. You can do whatever you want, William."  
  
As she put her hand on his, he found himself doing the same. She was right. He could do whatever he wanted. He was his own man, whoever that was, and he was damn well going to start asserting it.  
  
"You're a smart, beautiful, charming woman," he told her, "And you've helped me more than I'll ever know."  
  
From the look in her eyes, she knew what he was going to say next.  
  
"And I'm really sad that I can't love you right now. I just... I don't even know who I am, you know?"  
  
She nodded a little. She thought she knew.  
  
"I don't want to rule out us, though," he added, "I just don't have room right now. I have to find myself first."  
  
She smiled and let go of his hands. "Thank you. I needed to know where I stood."  
  
"You're not mad?"  
  
She gave him a dark look and went on, "Starting to be. I'm a reasonable woman, William. You don't have to feel bad about this. We've only known each other for a few weeks, anyway. Whenever you change your mind, you know where to find me."  
  
"Right next to me," he asserted, smiling, "You're a freind, and that's not bloody well gonna change."  
  
And then they ordered coffee.  
  
---  
  
"What you want," William said casually, flopping the contract on Lilah Morgan's desk, "Is more or less a demon hunter."  
  
She looked up at him, still neutral in expression.  
  
A wry smirk on his face, he explained, "I can do that."  
  
"So you'll be accepting our offer?" she asked, almost pleased with herself.  
  
"I made some changes to the contract. Take them or leave them."  
  
Calmly, she looked down and seemed to nearly react somehow to the sheer amount of strikethroughs. It had been watered down so much that all that remained was Wolfram and Hart's obligation to help him recover his memory by all means possible, and his obligation to "help the helpless" and hunt demons for the following year. That, and some non-disclosure agreements.  
  
"I..." she said thoughtfully, taking all the changes in, "Think we can accept this."  
  
"It's not your decision to make, is it?" he speculated.  
  
Initialing and signing the contract, she replied with a smile, "Actually, it is. Sign here."  
  
Warily, he looked down at the pen presented to him. After a second of hesitation, he reached forward, taking it in his slightly-trembling hand. This was a big step, and he wasn't sure he could handle it. Of course, he told himself, Wolfram and Hart did. They wouldn't have given him that medical if they hadn't.  
  
Oh, right. He had left that, too.  
  
Shrugging, he signed his name to the line and dated it, initialling in all the necessary spots.  
  
"A pleasure," she soothed, "I'm glad you made the right decision. Come in tomorrow for your first assignment. I'll let Tristaple know that you've been... promoted."  
  
"Right..." he mumbled, finding the door, "You do that..."  
  
And all she did was smile. 


	5. Five

[Hello, all. I realize that it's been a while since last chapter, but I have a good excuse: A-Kon XIV. I was up in Dallas, having fun and cutting my hair. If you were there, you may have seen me, as I happened to look like Spike at the time... In any case, it's time to move things along. A lot of ground to cover before morning.  
  
-DUNOTS]  
  
"Bezoar?"  
  
"Safe."  
  
"Feoral?"  
  
"Safe."  
  
"Quellar?"  
  
"Safe."  
  
"Uh, Doranian Thought Leech?"  
  
"Oh, I know one of those," Jacob Tangerine smiled, "name of Clem, real nice."  
  
William looked at the name on the paper once more, and then back at Tangerine. "So, no go on killing, then?"  
  
The demon expert shrugged lazily, "Depends on the guy. They tend to keep to themselves and not start anything."  
  
"So that's a maybe. Alright, thank," William smiled, slipping the papers into his briefcase, "Good thing I know someone on the inside."  
  
Jacob leaned back in the comfortable armchair, a beer in one hand, and a corn dog in the other. He considered saying something, but then the corn dog just called out to him to be eaten.  
  
"You sure you don't want money?" William asked, a little amazed by Tangerine's appetite.  
  
"Nah," he answered, pausing for a swig of beer, "I like this arrangement. Food, drink, and digital cable; you've got it all, Billy."  
  
They'd been having regular meetings over the past few weeks, Jacob providing information on WIlliam's targets, and William providing Jacob with the perks of a corporate demon hunter's payroll. Much as they had suspected, a fair chunk of the demons in the list were generally nice, and were probably working for the common good, if anything.  
  
The confusing thing, on the other hand, was that there were malicious demons on the list. Why would an evil corporations with connections to the literal underworld want evil demons from that underworld dead? So far, the best he could figure was competition.  
  
"Alright," William said after a few minutes of contemplation, "Quellar. Weaknesses?"  
  
"First you gotta find it," Jacob began.  
  
---  
  
There it was. It had eluded him into some woods, but hadn't counted on his unusual senses. It was about a mile into the woods, and about a night's worth of driving out of town. A little abandoned cabin sat dilapadated, and the perfect hiding spot for a demon.  
  
That was, as long as William the Bloody wasn't on his trail.  
  
Smiling darkly, William shook himself out, gave a little hop, and ran for the cabin, jumping through the window. Pulling out the silver bowie knife oh-so-kindly provided by his employers, he rolled to his feet, less than a meter separating them.  
  
"Way I see it," he scoffed, "You got one chance to tell me who's payin' your bills. Wanna be a nice, alive demon?"  
  
The feoral turned around, now standing fully. My, it was big, and muscular, and horned. Howling in inexplicably intelligable feoral, it leaned back and fired something out of its face. The stream of goop splattered wetly on his right forearm, and stung so badly that he dropped his knife-  
  
Into his other hand, as he swung his body around. The demon reared back, and prepared to swipe, his claws ready to deal the deathblow. Dodging backwards, William considered leaving this one to its own devices. The feoral continued lunging and spewing mucus, strong and scary, but not all that smart. It was pretty easy to navigate to the door, ready to leave.  
  
And then he made eye contact.  
  
What he saw made him smile, and his muscles tighten. His still-scalding right arm shook most of the gunk off, and its hand curled into a fist. The knife felt light in his hand, and his body automatically lowered to the ground, his expression only pleasure.  
  
And then he sprung, silver flashing out in front of him, lopping off the offending hand that tried to meet him halfway. In an instant, he was behind and to the left of the demon, both of them swirling to face each other. As the feoral screamed obscenities, William's right elbow came up and behind him, his hand braced against the other.  
  
As the demon's face reeled back from the shock, its stump thudded wetly into its hunter's ribs, still painful but hardly the maiming it had intended. Favoring its right hand, it had spun the wrong way on instinct.  
  
"Last chance," William asked quickly, eyes inviting the demon to do otherwise.  
  
By the time it smorted another gout of snot at him, his left arm was already climbing the distance between their bodies, and it was too late. Burning mucus splashed over his other hand, some of it bouncing back onto the source, but it didn't help. That hand refused to let go, and it kept going, pushing that shining blade into the demon's nose, then his skull, then his brain, then back out the other side of his head.  
  
William grinned when looked at the creature's face. It still wore the look of fear he'd seen in its eyes, and it always would.  
  
And then the rush was over, and he was in quite a lot of pain.  
  
---  
  
"Did you find out who was controlling it?" Lilah Morgan asked as the nurse applied some salve to his blistering forearms.  
  
Oh, right. "No, wouldn't say. Kill or be killed, you know?"  
  
She nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. "What about the Leech?"  
  
"Skipped town," he said truthfully, "Musta heard I was comin'."  
  
She looked like she could have been disappointed, but she also might have just had indigestion. It was somewhat hard to tell. "You have been tearing this town's demons apart," she replied, "And I expect word spreads."  
  
"I'll try to keep a lower profile, or whatever," he explained. What he failed to explain was that Jacob had tipped the poor demon off.  
  
"Very good. I'll see you again soon."  
  
He pretended to smile sweetly at her. After a moment of reveling in just how much he disliked that woman, a hand patted him on the wounded arms, now bandaged and the pain lessened.  
  
"Done here," the generically foreign nurse said with a smile.  
  
He smiled back, glad to be out of the infirmary. It was an ugly, white place, and he sometimes wondered if he avoided injury just to avoid this room. "Thanks, uh, you," he responded to her, looking for a nametag.  
  
Bowing, or something, she tunred and walked away, leaving William to his own devices.  
  
---  
  
"Anybody home?" William called into Wesley's office.  
  
It was strange for Wes to go missing in the middle of the day, and it was nearly tea time to boot. Whatever the emergency, William had time to kill, and wanted to kill it with tea and conversation. Seeing as the door was open, he let himself in and sat down, ctaking in the sizeable office.  
  
Everything was in its correct place, a vision of neatness, just like every corporate office in the building. Probably maids. The desk, on the other hand...  
  
"Buffy - 2:30" was scrawled at the top of today's date on his desk calendar, and some strange tomes had been left open. Most notable was a passage about vampire prophesies, one of them highlighted in chartruse.  
  
"Cuss marks up books this old?" William wondered aloud, picking up the volume.  
  
The highlighted prophecy was called Shansu, and it had to do with a vampire with a soul, and some kind of metamorphosis. Interesting in the idea that there could be a vampire with a soul, but not terribly intriguing otherwise.  
  
Casually, he began to flip through the pages, to see if there was anything else interesting. Oddly, there wasn't anything at all. After a point, the pages were just blank, as if waiting to be printed on. Curious, he turned to the inside cover, to find if the pages cut off that way, too.  
  
"Currently displaying: Prophecies and various other prognostifications relating to the vampire and its close demon-ilk," the inside page read. Across from it were instructions on how to use the book. Apparently, one would close it, put their mouth to the spine, and tell the book what to be. Anything in the archives could be pulled out that way.  
  
Blinking twice, William realized just how useful that could be to him.  
  
Opening his mouth, he quickly set the book down when Wesley walked in.  
  
"Oh," the stubbly man said with a start, "William. What are you doing here?"  
  
"Waitin' for tea. Guess your date didn't work out?" he motioned to the name Buffy.  
  
Wesley looked very confused for a moment, and then some kind of social revelation spread acrosshis face. "No, that's not a date," he said with a smile, "An old friend, no, a lot of old friends are in town."  
  
"Oh, wouldn't wanna break that up," William stood, "Be off, then."  
  
Wesley gave him a somehow disappointed look and stated, "Come on, I'll introduce you. I think you'll like her."  
  
---  
  
Trying to find out just what relationship Wesley had with this Buffy was somewhat difficult. He resisted straight answers at every turn, and he seemed more and more troubled at the prospects of introducing William to the group.  
  
"Ah," Wesley said with both nervousness and relief evident, "We're here."  
  
As the elevator doors opened, they both jumped a bit when they saw Lilah's figure in front of them.  
  
"William," she commanded simply, "New assignment. I'll brief you in my office."  
  
"Assignment?" Wesley asked, incredulous, "Brief? Lilah, William, what's..."  
  
Brushing him off, Lilah strode away, William forced to follow. "No time. Come on, William, we have to hurry."  
  
All William saw before he followed her was Wesley's face harden.  
  
---  
  
"What?" William demanded as the entered her office, "What do you need me for?"  
  
Handing him some papers as she sat, Lilah explained, "There's another feoral, and he's wreaking havoc in the city. We need you to do something about it, and fast."  
  
"Damn lucky for you I heal so fast," he explained, holding up his hands, "But you never told me about the mucus. Maybe I could get some protective gear?"  
  
"There's really no time," she explained, "It's killing as we speak..."  
  
"Then at least a long-sleeve?"  
  
---  
  
There it was, some kind of rusty, bloody blade in its hand. It was all fury, and death, and anger.  
  
There he was, stained, but still silver bowie knife in his hand. He was all hurting, and bandaged, and wearing a turtleneck sweater.  
  
"You killed my brother!" the feoral roared in its native tongue, "You will join him in hell!"  
  
Questions of how the demon knew who killed his brother, and how William knew the language took a back burner to survival.  
  
"Least you're honest on where the blighter went," William noted in the same language as he leapt to the side.  
  
Smarm, however, never takes a back burner.  
  
Predictably enough, the demon was now past speaking, and used little more than screams and howls as he slashed that horrible implement at William. This time, there was no hint of fear in the monster's eyes, and no woods to hide in. Only open street, a setting sun, and a very, very angry demon.  
  
Another furious slash, and William was looking for a store to duck into, to at least buy himself some time. And then he saw it, broken neon sign like the gates of Kublai Khan's pleasure dome.  
  
"Ted's guns and ammo"  
  
At this point, William broke into a full run, the knife seeming impotent enough to be re-sheathed at his hip. Behind him, the constant pounding of massive feet on pavement became drowned out by a crunching, coninuous ripping sound. The occasional shriek of metal on metal made him turn his head jest enough to see what was going on.  
  
The feoral had his sword at his side, pointed down, the tip of it actually rending the concrete from the ground. The metal noises were rebar and pipes getting smashed into pieces. The demon had only slowed down slightly because of the frition.  
  
William ran faster.  
  
---  
  
The man dove into the gun shop, and the demon was only a little ways behind. Even as he ran for the scene, Angel knew he wouldn't be there before the feoral broke the bars and got inside. Hopefully there was a back door, and the poor sap had some way of getting out.  
  
"Crossbow!" Angel shouted, hearing it click into place beside him as he did.  
  
The sound of the bow moved behind him as he kept running, and then a bolt whizzed by his head, thunking into the demon's back a moment later. The monster ignored it, and kept running, and for a moment, Angel was convinced that man was going to be killed.  
  
But then another shot pierced his flesh, and the feoral noticed that something wasn't right. Swivelling only feet from the door, it saw Angel and paused, seemingly confused. A second later, it howled and began to run at him. When they met, he-  
  
Veered to the right, apparently running for Faith. That would make sense, as she had been shooting the damn thing. Quickly, Angel leapt to his side, barely grabbing the right arm of the demon. It tried to dislodge him without stopping, but he sunk a knife into its shoulder, and it stopped cold.  
  
"Ladies second," Angel snarled, his vampire face manifesting.  
  
The demon plucked the blade from its shoulder, shaking the ensouled vampire off. For a second, it made ready to lunge, but then it stopped, a look of thought sweeping over its expressions. Given the intelligence of the average feoral, that was fairly surprising.  
  
"Me first," a voice came from behind the demon.  
  
And then a boom resounded through the street, and the creature's left side jerked toward Angel, sword clattering to the ground. The monster swivelled as another blast rocked his body. Plenty of blood flowed, but the wounds healed almost visibly. Courage aside, the man was still going to get killed.  
  
Growling, Angel leapt at the monster, left arm wrapping around its massive neck. Even as he jabbed his silver blade into its back, the demon grabbed his head and threw him to the ground in front of itself. Slightly dizzy and shaken, Angel looked up, expecting it to descend upon him. Strangely, it instead looked up again, making ready for something else.  
  
Before he could wonder what it was, the other man was there, huge knife glinting in the streetlamps. He ducked under a swing from its somewhat incapacitated left arm, and brought the blade to bear. Rolling to safety, Angel noted that the blade seemed to be silver. And then, suddenly, he head a thump, and a deep sigh, and turned just in time to see the man withdraw a bloody knife from the demon's chest.  
  
"That's right," he shouted, "I'm a bloody animal!"  
  
Standing quickly, Angel moved for the man, an irrational suspicion nagging at his brain.  
  
"William the bloody is a god-damn animal!" he continued, and Angel stopped cold, only feet from the other man's familiar face.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
Spike turned, a confused look on his face. "Mr. Angel?" 


	6. Six

"What?""What?"  
  
"Mr?""Spike?"  
  
"Why are you calling me-""Where's a-"  
  
They both stopped for a moment, confusion obvious. William gave Mr. Angel a look up and down, comparing him to the pictures he'd seen. Mr. Angel did the same, recognition fleeting in his expressions.  
  
"Wait!" William excaimed, recalling just a few seconds ago, "You're a bloody vampire!"  
  
Mr. Angel cocked his head and gave him a funny look. "Well... yeah... so are you."  
  
What?  
  
"Right?" Mr. Angel finished.  
  
For once, William had found someone else just about as confused as he was. He reveled in the moment for a few seconds until it was interrupted by a smallish girl with long brown hair.  
  
"Yo, Peaches, what's the hold up?"  
  
Mr. Angel turned to her, concern still etched on his face. William just stood there. He thought about leaving.  
  
"It's Spike!" he called to her, "He's back... somehow."  
  
The girl backed up a half-step at that declaration, and the quickly moved in on William, eying him closely.  
  
"It is you," she said simply, "Let your hair go brown, but it's you! How'd you do it?"  
  
"Uh, let it grow?" he pled.  
  
Punching him in the arm, she smiled, "No, how'd you get out? I heard from B you got dusted."  
  
Turning his face away from her slightly, he noted to himself, "Yeah, funny how you're always the last to hear..."  
  
"Anyway, " the girl continued, throwing a thumb at the nearby car, "Hop in. We gotta show the others. Xander'll flip."  
  
"What?" William asked, wholeheartedly, "Are you going on about, you dippy bint?"  
  
A disgusted look crept over her face, and she turned toward him again only to back off. "Geez, no reason to get shirty! You lose your soul or somethin'?"  
  
"Shirty?" he demanded, incredulous, "I don't even know what that is, and I'm not it."  
  
"Wait, Faith-" Mr. Angel tried to interrupt.  
  
"Oh, yeah?" Faith demanded, "You wanna blow off your friends, that's your business. I just thought they could do with some good news, alright?"  
  
"You're not my sodding friends!" he exclaimed, as a thought came across him, "Or maybe you are."  
  
She seemed to lose a bit of rage as he deflated himself. He'd completely forgotten his lack of memories. Funny, that. Mr. Angel stepped inbetween them, finally letting out complete sentences.  
  
"Look, just calm down," he soothed, hands out, "I think I know what's going on, here."  
  
"William works for me," a voice came from behind them.  
  
"Exactly. William works for m-" Mr. Angel cut off as everyone else sput to look at Lilah Morgan.  
  
"What?" Faith demanded, filling in for everyone's silence.  
  
Smiling, she continued, "After the event in Sunnydale, William came into the employ of Wolfram and Hart, of his own volition."  
  
"Is that true?" Mr. Angel demanded.  
  
"Well, yeah." William shrugged.  
  
Mr. Angel breathed in deeply for a moment, anger and confusion seeming to mix. Faith had to make do with confusion alone.  
  
"Now if you will excuse us," Lilah soothed, "We need to debrief William on tonight's assignment."  
  
"Uh..." William stated, more than a little interested in what Mr. Angel had to say.  
  
With an almost baleful glare, Lilah reiterated, "You are obliged to do the job, Mr. Crawford."  
  
Sighing, William began to make his way to the limousine.  
  
"Spike!" Mr. Angel shouted, "William! We're not done."  
  
Turning, a reluctant smile on his face, WIlliam answered, "No, don't think we are.  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
---  
  
"Why?" he demanded, not caring if he sounded as mad as he was, "Did you do that to me?"  
  
Lilah sat smartly in her chair and smiled. "Do what?"  
  
"Bloody pullin' me away from those people!"  
  
She just looked at him.  
  
"People who know," he shouted, "Who know who I am! Maybe, just maybe, they could help with the amnesia?"  
  
She breathed deeply, almost a sigh. "William, I'm only looking out for your best interests. We decided that, until we found a safe way to reintroduce your memories, exposing you to your past would only hurt you."  
  
He growled a bit. He also spun in place and seethed. He didn't, however, have any idea if she was telling the truth. He was no psychologist, nor was he a lawyer. They had him by the wrinklies.  
  
"Fine. So you say," he conceded, "But what about it, then? Why don't you blighters get up off your asses and look into fixin' my skull? It's part of the bloody deal!"  
  
Lilah breathed again, setting an envelope in front of him. "We are making progress, William. But we have to be slow to be sure. We wouldn't want to risk your health."  
  
"Right. What's this, then?" he demanded, picking up the envelope.  
  
"Your next assignment."  
  
He leaned forward and made a face as though he'd eaten an infinitely disgusting and confusiong candy. "The bloody hell you say!"  
  
"I realize that it's a bit of an imposition-"  
  
"You're fucking well right it is!" he exploded, throwing it to the ground, "I refuse!"  
  
"-But you are contractually obliged to accept any assignment given you, and to execute it in wholeheartedly."  
  
He seethed some more, his rage burying itself under carefully trimmed papers. "And what if I don't?"  
  
She smiled, but she looked like she wanted to frown. "You really don't want to know, William."  
  
And for just a second, she let some kind of guard down, and it was very scary because she was very scared. And then it was gone, and it was just William's boss at Wolfram and Hart again.  
  
"Right..." he stammered, "Guess I got no choice..."  
  
And as that creepy smile lit her face again, he shambled out the door, looking inside for his next target.  
  
"Oh," he stopped walking, "My fuck."  
  
---  
  
"Spike?" she repeated, eyes wide and dumbfound.  
  
"Yes," Xander stated sharply, "Spike. Is that a broken record in there, or are you just happy to see him?"  
  
Buffy shook her head, trying take it all in. "No, it's just that... Well, it's a little much, you know?"  
  
Willow did that thing with her face, eyes glowing hurt. And it was only sympathetic pain.  
  
"I mean... he was dead," Buffy went on, looking like she might cry, "And now... where is he?"  
  
Sighing deeply, Rupert Giles removed his glasses and began to clean them. It was only the second time they had come by Angel Investigations, the first time immediately after the... collapse. They had been travelling, collecting slayers, and they needed to reconvene with their most powerful ally.  
  
Also, the old hotel had plenty of rooms, and they could use a bit of rest.  
  
"Wolfram and Hart," Angel explained darkly, "He works for them, now."  
  
Willow turned away from Buffy, whom she was hugging. "Your evil law firm?"  
  
"..." Angel responded clearly, "Yes. My evil law firm."  
  
"No big, then. I mean, you're like his boss, right? Just like old times," Xander joked.  
  
"I don't think he knows who he is," Angel said suddenly.  
  
GIles was afraid of this. Whatever had happened to Spike was obviously traumatic. "He has amnesia, then?"  
  
Angel nodded. "Probably. I'd need to talk to him, though."  
  
"Can't you just send a memo?" Willow asked innocently, "You know, 'everyone who is William the Bloody please come to a meeting'?"  
  
"It's not that simple," the vampire sighed, "Lilah is apparently his direct superior, and not even I can do much bossing to her. Spike works for Wolfram and Hart, but not for me."  
  
"That," Giles iterated, "Could be very bad."  
  
---  
  
"This is very bad," Wesley stated.  
  
William nodded and took back the paper. "What I thought."  
  
"Well," Wesley shrugged, sitting back in his office chair, "I suppose this means you know Angel is a vampire, now."  
  
"Don't know your story, though," William glowered, "Who are you, exactly?"  
  
"I was a watcher," he answered simply.  
  
Wesley's eyes went up expectantly to William's. Whatever significance that was supposed to have was apparently wasted on William. Wesley seemed disappointed.  
  
"In any case," he went on, "I left the council, and became a demon hunter for a time, until I joined up with Angel."  
  
"Oh, then I guess I shoulda been comin' to you for pointers, then," William speculated.  
  
"I wasn't very good at it."  
  
William shrugged. "So you came to W&H, then."  
  
"No," Wesley clarified, " I came to Angel. Angel Investigations. We were a motley crew of heroes led by the Vampire with a soul. We fought Wolfram and Hart tooth and nail."  
  
At that last sentence, William gave a start and asked an obvious question with his eyes.  
  
"What?" Wesley asked, genuinely confused.  
  
William moved his hands around him frustratedly. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but you work for sodding Wolfram and Hart!"  
  
"Oh, right, that. After we, ah, finally defeated them, you could say, they, well, Lilah..."  
  
William sighed loudly.  
  
"Long story short, they gave us the business," he concluded quickly.  
  
William scoffed, "Right businessmen, they are. What did they take in return?"  
  
"Our unpredictability, I expect," he pondered, "Though I suppose they think they can corrupt us this way."  
  
And then they both remembered why William was there.  
  
"So I can't very well kill Mr. Angel," William stated.  
  
"No, you damn well cannot," Wesley reiterated, "And the fact that they told you to is a bit suspicious."  
  
William shot him another Look. "What gave you that idea?"  
  
"No, no, not that," Wesley shook his hand in a dismissal, "The assignment itself seems wrong. They aren't allowed to harm Angel, or any of us. I don't think you have to go through with it."  
  
"So, the blighters want me to break either their contract or mine," William snarled.  
  
Wesley thought for a moment, then answered, "Well, yes. I suppose it's either you or them. If you break your contract, they get off. But if you go through with it..."  
  
William smiled. "Everyone gets screwed..."  
  
---  
  
"Angel!" Wesley excaimed, bursting into the room, "We've got a problem."  
  
Everybody turned to the panting Englishman, waiting for him to catch his breath. It was somewhat a long wait.  
  
"Well?" Giles asked impatiently.  
  
Wesley took a particularly deep breath and spouted, "William, he's a demon hunter for them, and they sent him after you!"  
  
"They can't do that!" Angel stated incredulously, "It's breaking their contract. They're very good about contracts."  
  
Wesley shrugged excitedly, somehow. "Apparenly not! He's coming for you right now!"  
  
Suddenly Buffy excaimed, "William? as in, Spike?"  
  
"Who?" Wesley asked.  
  
"But it's the middle of the day," Willow speculated, "Shouldn't that crispy fry him? Uh, again?"  
  
"What?" Wesley asked.  
  
Xander stood, tossing Buffy an axe. "Whatever. The important thing is we put him down, tie him up, and figure it out from there."  
  
Buffy looked like she was going to say something for a moment, but then her expression steeled. "No mortal wounds," she called out, "We're looking to capture, not kill. Let's go with blunt instead of sharp."  
  
Everyone nodded, loading up appropriately.  
  
---  
  
It had been a strange day for William Smith Crawford. At least he didn't have to worry about potentially false memories with all the commotion. Just a stake in one hand, that shotgun in the other, and a nice, corporate-sponsored license to kill.  
  
Well, more of an onus to kill, but, hey, semantics.  
  
Looking up at the hotel, he mentally called up the plans he had been given. If he was correct, the entrance he wanted we just about...  
  
And he climbed the low wall, leaping onto a second story balcony. Better to get the drop from above. As he came to the door he was looking for, he could hear light footsteps coming from below. They were expecting him.  
  
Smiling, he pushed the button on his watch, detonating the small charge he'd left near the front of the building. Bloody James Bond, he was.  
  
---  
  
Suddenly, there was a bang out front, and all eyes turned to the main door. Spike never was one for the subtlety, and Giles fully expected him to come crashing in throught he front door at any moment.  
  
The surprising thing was when a door above and behind them clattered open, revealing a grinning William the Bloody.  
  
"Boss," Spike shouted, ostensibly to Angel, "Board has a message."  
  
And then there was a boom, and a fair chunk of Angel wasn't part of him any more.  
  
"You're fired." 


	7. Seven

"Ow!"  
  
Mr. Angel's voice was surprisingly full of indignancy, considering that he'd just lost a kidney.  
  
"Since when do you use shotguns?" the wounded vampire continued, not even bothering to take cover.  
  
William sort of sighed a little and answered, "No idea."  
  
And with that, he leapt down to the first floor, pumping another round into the chamber of the shotgun. As he rolled to his feet, a small blonde girl leapt from behind a column, almost blindsiding him with a bat.  
  
He punched her in the face and kept walking.  
  
"You're a big boy, boss," William spat, bringing the shotgun to bear as he approached his target, "You really need chippies on guard duty?"  
  
And then he was hit in the back of the head with what felt like a blackjack.  
  
"No, but it helps," a man with an eyepatch said from above him.  
  
Swinging his feet around like a breakdancer, he took down the eyepatched man and leapt to standing, though his head hurt a bit. Mr. Angel remained standing, albeit bleeding quite a bit, as if daring him to make a move.  
  
William was happy to oblige.  
  
He swung the gun again, this time firing as soon as he had a bead on Angel's torso. He was very surprised, however, when a large and incredibly irritating clang noise came from shortly in front of himself. A split second later, Mr. Angel was sent sprawling, the manhole cover that had been thrown in the way colliding with his chest.  
  
"Nice throw," he congratulated the girl he knew as Faith, "Got another?"  
  
And then he was on the ground again, looking up at the blonde with the bat even before he knew she was awake.  
  
"We got a lot," she frowned.  
  
As he began to get up again, he felt his body sag into uselessness, gravity pinning him impossibly to the floor.  
  
"What the-" William was interrupted.  
  
"A binding spell," a British man announced from the sidelines, a redheaded woman with him, "Don't bother getting up, William."  
  
Wesley walked up to him, pulling the shotgun away. "Sorry, William. Looks like you haven't got the means to do this job."  
  
William smiled with relief. "I told you."  
  
---  
  
"So you planned this out?" Giles asked with a hint of surprise.  
  
Wesley Wyndham-Pryce smirked a bit, hoping he wasn't letting on that he was proud of it. "Well, not down to the punch, but roughly, yes. It was a smashing success, if you ask me."  
  
"You got Angel shot in the gut," Giles eyeballed him harshly.  
  
"Turnabout," Wesley smiled darkly, "remains fair play."  
  
Rupert seemed to accede that point.  
  
"In any event, William is off the hook, as far as I can figure," Wesley expained.  
  
Looking up knowingly, Giles continued, "Yes, he gave it his best, ah, shot, and he failed."  
  
Bringing a finger up, Wesley added, "Not just that, but he always will fail, no matter how he tries. I think we proved summarily enough that it's a job he cannot do."  
  
"And what about Wolfram and Hart?" Giles asked after a moment.  
  
"Good question," Wesley wondered aloud.  
  
They both took a sip from the tea someone had surreptitiously brewed and stared at nothing. Neither spoke for a few seconds, the weight of what had transpired beginning to be felt.  
  
"Doesn't do much for job security, does it?" Giles asked.  
  
"No, not really," Wesley answered.  
  
---  
  
"Wow," the eyepatched man marvelled over William's prone form, "He really does look different with brown hair."  
  
"Very professional," the redhead agreed.  
  
Suddenly, a slight brunette stood, angry and frustrated loking. "Yeah, a professional killer!"  
  
"Dawn," the blonde tried to interrupt.  
  
"I can't believe you guys are sitting around and joking when..." she slowed down, "When Spike just tried to kill Angel. With a shotgun!"  
  
"Not the first time," the man explained.  
  
William smirked and moved his head a little. "Wouldn't know. Amnesia, and all."  
  
"See?" the one called Dawn shouted, "He doesn't know any of us! How do we know he's not gonna shoot one of us next?"  
  
"Boss didn't tell me to," William explained neatly.  
  
"But..." Dawn trailed off to a whisper, probably below the hearing of the rest of them, "How do we know we'll get Spike back?"  
  
And there it was. They definitely knew him. They knew him as "Spike," but they obviously knew him. And, apparently, they liked him. A welcome change, to say the least.  
  
"Guys," the blonde said suddenly and with some force, "Can I... could you leave me alone with him?"  
  
And they all looked at her expectantly.  
  
"Just for a few minutes. Maybe I can..."  
  
And they all nodded at her knowingly.  
  
He waited a few moments, sizing her up. She was pretty, though he could see a lot of fights on her. And there, in her eyes, was a strange sort of Look. A Look like she knew him. Like he knew her. A Look like old friends... or siblings meeting again.  
  
"Who am I?" he asked simply.  
  
She knelt down in front of him, and he could see tears welling up in her eyes. "Spike..."  
  
"I know," he explained, "But who is that?"  
  
She opened up her mouth to answer, but stopped, realizing that she had nothing to say. Slowly, she put her hand on his face, and he couldn't tell if she was happy or sad.  
  
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, pulling her hand back, "You're alive!"  
  
He blinked a little, but it didn't really help. "Yeah, 'bout par for the course."  
  
"No, I mean... human," she stammered, apparently shocked.  
  
"What?" he exclaimed, the depth of that statement sinking in, "What does that mean? What was I before?"  
  
She didn't seem to want to answer. To hell with her. "Tell me! What was I? Who was I?"  
  
"You were a bloodthirsty, murderous vampire," a voice came from the side of the room.  
  
And there was a young man with blonde hair, shortish and nerdy. He caught a hell of a Look from the blonde, but he kept walking for them. Soon, he knelt down beside them, a look of goofy resolution on his face.  
  
"Look, Buffy, he's got to know."  
  
Buffy glared, "But..."  
  
"You were the worst of the worst," he continued, ignoring the pleading face of Buffy, "Turned in eighteen-hundred and eighty by Drusilla."  
  
Oh, that would make sense, actually. At least it was looking less likely that his memories were false.  
  
"Go on," William said, a little more shaky than he wanted.  
  
The boy drew a breath, hunkering down for something. "Angel had turned her. And Darla before him. The four of you cut a swath through Europe for more than ten years, nothing but bloody death waiting for your enemies, and most of your friends."  
  
"Angel?" William exclaimed.  
  
"But then things changed," the boy rattled on, "Angel killed the wrong girl, and her family cursed him with what would hurt him the most: a soul. Your vampire family was shattered-"  
  
"Andrew," Buffy said warningly.  
  
Andrew cleared his throat and went on. "Anyway, your girlfriend got beat up by a mob, so you came to Sunnydale to fix her up."  
  
"Guess that didn't go too well..." William speculated.  
  
"Buffy stopped you time and time again, in a nigh-endless battle of the sexes! Yes, that's right, the two of you were bitter enemies, evenly matched in all things..."  
  
William couldn't raise his hand, but he made the halting noises to go with it. "Assuming I'm such a bad sort, why're we all chums now?"  
  
"Good question," Buffy wondered knowingly.  
  
Sighing, Andrew went on, seeming a bit put off by the interactions. "Well, you left for about a year, and Drusilla broke up with you. This is when your story gets really good."  
  
"You sure about that?"  
  
"Quiet. A year later, you returned to Sunnydale, intent on killing the Slayer-"  
  
"WHAT?" William exclaimed.  
  
Andrew looked around for a moment, confused, then smiled. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that, uh... you forgot. She's the Slayer."  
  
"The Slayer?" He exclaimed. He'd heard of it before.  
  
"Well, actually A Slayer, now," Andrew amended, "But let's move on, shall we?"  
  
William sighed.   
  
"You were intent on killing the Slayer, to prove your manhood. Or, uh, demonhood. But then, you were captured, and a chip was put in your head, a piece of plastic and steel that took away your monster. Yes, the bloodthirsty, rampant Spike was muzzled. You couldn't so much as harm a living soul without brain-twisting agony!"  
  
"Seems I've lived an extremely silly life," William droned, "Or unlife, I guess."  
  
"But then you fell in love with Buffy!" Andrew exclaimed, getting into the story.  
  
"Hey," Buffy shouted, "You skipped a lot!"  
  
William joined in. "Just like that? Bang, love?"  
  
"Oh, that stuff was boring," Andrew dismissed, "In any case, love made a man out of the monster, and you cared for Buffy, and later, her sister Dawn, after both their mother and Buffy died."  
  
"You died?" William asked her, incredulously.  
  
"Twice," she acceded.  
  
"Saving the world," Andrew added.  
  
William paused for a moment, then asked, "Your mum, too?"  
  
Buffy's face dropped, and he was sorry he'd said that. "Sorry I said that. Touchy subject, I'd suppose. So, ah, where do I stop being a vampire?"  
  
"Well, you eventually fought to regain your soul," Andrew explained, "And returned to Sunnydale, insane in a school basement."  
  
"Can I just say that I don't much care for me and my life?" William asked calmly.  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "We've all been there."  
  
"Self loathing?" William asked.  
  
"You loathing," she answered.  
  
He gave one of his first Looks in a while. "Go on," he threatened Andrew.  
  
"Okay, uh, during that year, this last year, you- we all fought The First Evil, and it almost won. There were a lot of sacrifices... and you were one of them."  
  
"Come again?"  
  
Andrew sighed and clarified, "You wore an amulet that saved the day, but it burned you up. Last time we saw you, you were just a cloud in the sea of dust that is Sunny-"  
  
Realization flooded him, and his eyes widened. "And then I woke up in that crater!"  
  
"Whatever happened," Andrew concluded, standing irritatedly, "I guess you're human now. Uh, congrats?"  
  
William just stared up blankly, thinking about what he had just been told. "Wow."  
  
"Do you remember?" Buffy asked a little frantically, grabbing his shoulders, "Do you remember me? ... Us?"  
  
Blinking, he turned his head to look at her. "Don't remember me or you, so I guess that rules out us. But tell you what, I'll believe what you told me and we'll call it even."  
  
---  
  
"He shot me!" Angel exclaimed, eyes wide and indignant.  
  
Lilah Morgan remained seated.  
  
"Look at this!" he shot, lifting up his shirt to reveal a huge bandage, "I had to get a kidney put back in! It's been years since I've had to do that!"  
  
"What do you want me to do about it?" she asked calmly.  
  
Glowering, he placed his hands firmly on her desk. "Let's try not ordering my death, for starters."  
  
Lilah shrugged. "We had a request from one of our stockholders. We were contractually obliged to do what we could without breaking our contract with you."  
  
He was sure she was lying, but had no way of proving it. "Yeah, about those contracts. I took a look at his. Looks like it got changed a lot."  
  
Her smile nearly wavered.  
  
"In my favor," Angel continued, "It says that he's supposed to fight for my cause first, and for you people second. Maybe you'd like to let me handle my employees directly."  
  
Lilah smiled, maybe even warmly.  
  
"I thought you'd never ask." 


	8. Eight

[Hello, kind readers!  
  
I realize it has been some time since last I wrote here, but I have excuses, ah, glorious excuses! First I was busy, as people oft times are. Then... then it was the Tenth of June! I was ready to fire up the old simpletext when I realized that a certain DVD set had come out! As you can imagine, I was busy with that for a day or two, expecially since Season Four is still tied for my favorite (With six, if you're interested).  
  
In any event, I then got sick, and am only now recovering. AND THEN! FF.net's gurmeldy file upload server wouldn't upload anything i sent their way... So read on, and tell me what you think. I may or may not continue, as I think I've reached a pretty decent stopping point. Awake was never supposed to be an epic (or possibly saga) so much as an excerpt (sometimes called episode) from the life of Br- William. The Bloody. Not Willy the Snitch.  
  
And to everyone who gave reviews beyond "Good job write more!" : Thank you very much. It's nice to know that people make an effort. And to everyone who gave reviews of the "Good job write more!" sort: Thanks, it's nice to know people read this stuff.  
  
-DUNOTS]  
  
"Congratulations, William," Mr. Angel's voice tried to boom across the hall of the Hotel, "You've been promoted."  
  
Willam looked up at the vampire striding quickly, yet somehow sullenly, toward him. "Not again..." he groused.  
  
Mr. Angel knelt down and smiled a mfunny sort of smile. "Well, lucky you, I'm your boss now. I hope we'll get along."  
  
"Honestly?" William asked.  
  
Mr. Angel smirked. "Mostly," then he paused, thinking, "Partially."  
  
"Perfect!" Wesley erupted from the opposite side of the hall, "We've by and large nullified yet another of the life-threatening situations our own company throws at us."  
  
"You ever think maybe you shouldn't have taken that offer?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Here first," she drawled when everyone looked at her.  
  
The other brit sauntered lazily into the room, smelling of tea and books. With a sort of knowing smile, he also knelt next to the prone demon hunter, his hand moving in an unfathomable kind of way.  
  
"Still stuck to the floor," William intoned, "and not gettin' any more comfy."  
  
"I nullified the spell," the older brit explained calmly, "You're free to, ah, be free."  
  
William lifted his hand. Oh. With a smile, he leapt to his feet and shook himself out, hopping a bit as he did so. "Great. Now if you all don't mind, I've got a lot of injuries to sleep off..."  
  
"Wait," Mr. Angel exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder, "you... hey!"  
  
"Hey?" William asked.  
  
Mr. Angel looked up at William's face, then back at his shoulder, then repeated, apparently to make sure he'd done it right. "You're warm!"  
  
"And you're a big bag of sunshine," William responded, lifting the offending hand off his shoulder.  
  
"No, I mean..." Mr. Angel trailed off, "You're... human."  
  
William rolled his eyes. He'd forgotten about that. "Yeah, hear tell I used to be a vampire. Seems I got better."  
  
Buffy and Andrew excepted, the others in the room all wore surprised or possibly quizzical expressions. If he had any inkling of who he used to be, he probably would have gloated at having a radical new thing to show off.  
  
"Wait!" Wesley exclaimed, "Didn't you used to have a soul?"  
  
William shrugged. "Got one now."  
  
Wesley turned to the other man. "Giles. Didn't he have a soul? When he..."  
  
Giles furrowed his brow and answered, "Yes, yes he did..."  
  
"Then the answer is obvious!" Wesley grinned, "It's the Shanshu! I didn't think it would come to fruition so soon..."  
  
"Shanshu?" Andrew piped in, William glad he asked.  
  
Wesley sat at the dexk and took a breath. "Some time ago, we came across a prophecy stating that the vampire with a soul would-"  
  
"Go through some hell, an apocalypse or two, and then become human..." William finished.  
  
"How did you know that?" Wesley scowled.  
  
"Went through your things," William smiled.  
  
Giles and Buffy smiled whole-heartedly, and William got the feeling Andrew was smiling, too. William himself felt the urge to grin, but he wasn't really sure why. Apparently happiness was catching.  
  
"Well, that's fantastic!" Giles exclaimed, "I mean, assuming the amnesia is curable, this is a real second chance for Spi, uh, William."  
  
Nobody else said anything for a few moments. A slight scuffle caught William's attention, and he noticed Mr. Angel in a far corner, an unhappy sort of look on his face. Amazing he'd moved so much without William hearing it.  
  
"Yeah," Angel monotoned, "Great. For Spike."  
  
And then Wesley's face dropped.  
  
---  
  
"Is William here?"  
  
Jacob Tangerine stood at William Crawford's front door, looking out at the pretty, though not entirely young woman.  
  
"No," he answered.  
  
She seemed somewhat disappointed. "You, uh, want me to give him a message?"  
  
"Do you," she began, "do you know where he is?"  
  
"Out hunting," Jacob answered simply, "Might take a while."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Jacob was beginning to lose patience. "You at least wanna come in? I'm missing the game."  
  
The woman nodded absentmindedly and stepped inside, Jacob closing the door after her. Sighing in relief, he sat back down for the rest of the Women's Curling Semifinals.  
  
"So..." she asked cautiously, sitting on the sofa, "Are you a friend of William's?"  
  
Jacob laughed. "Used to be his landlord. But yeah, a friend. Name's Tangerine."  
  
"Nice to meet you," she smiled warily, "I'm Tanya."  
  
Oh, Tanya. "OH!" he exclaimed, "Tanya! The girl!"  
  
"The girl?" she repeated.  
  
"Yeah, Willy talks about you all the time," Jacob commented offhandedly, "It's a good thing you did."  
  
He didn't have to look to know she was a little proud.  
  
"He needed help," she explained calmly, "So I helped him."  
  
Jacob grinned and turned to her. "Plus, bein' a looker doesn't hurt, now, does it?"  
  
Tanya almost laughed. "Oh, I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
---  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" William exclaimed.  
  
Mr. Angel was pacing angrily around the room, his brow more furrowed than usual. "What the hell do you think I mean?" he repeated, "The prophecy!"  
  
"And I..."  
  
The larger man whipped around, a little panic in his eyes as he stared down William. "Is this like payback for you?" he demanded, "A little revenge for five years ago?"  
  
"Angel, wai-"  
  
"I can't believe it!" Mr. Angel shouted, "You, of all people! YOU!"  
  
"Now, look..."  
  
And then that face was right next to William's own, anger seething out of every vein as it shifted. As Mr. Angel became a demon.  
  
"You stole the only hope I had..." he snarled, "And I bet you're laughing inside."  
  
"Not at the moment, no..." William eased.  
  
Suddenly, Mr. Angel backhanded him, sending him flying. "Even when I was living off rats," he snarled as William got to his feet, "I was never the loser you always were. Never a beast, grabbing onto whatever silhouette of love he can find."  
  
William decked the offending vampire, employment forgotten for the time being. "You back the hell off, mate..."  
  
"No, William," he spat the other man's name, as well as some blood, "I will not back off. You owe me everything you are or ever were, and now that includes humanity. You have no idea how close I am to taking that away from you."  
  
"Come on," William sneered, "Thought you were supposed to have a sou..."  
  
Oh, right. The prophecy.  
  
"Actually, forget that," William apologized, "See how you gould feel a little jewed."  
  
"Try gypped," Mr. Angel scowled.  
  
William smiled falsely, backing up. "Hey, sorry, peaches, but if it's any consolation, I don't think I was tryin' to snag it from you."  
  
"You know," Mr. Angel noted cooly, "I don't think I care anymore."  
  
And then he was leaping for William, teeth and fists ready. And there was a blur, and a thump, and William looked up to see Buffy standing over the prone form of Mr. Angel, an angry sort of a Look in her eyes.  
  
"You don't wanna go too far," she warned in a voice shaking with threat.  
  
Mr. Angel scrambled to his feet, whirling at her but not making any attempt to strike. "Are you gonna take his side again?"  
  
"What?" she shot, incredulous.  
  
"It's always the new guy, isn't it?" Mr. Angel snarled, "Just leave old Angel in the dust, right?"  
  
And then she punched him, and he was unconcious.  
  
"You need to calm down," she sneered at him.  
  
There was another one of those tensions, and William wanted to ask a question, ask if Mr. Angel was always like that, or ask if there was anything he could do, or just say anything to break the horrible silence he knew to be drama. But, in the end, it wasn't up to him.  
  
"Holy moley!" the eyepatched man exclaimed, coming to a screeching halt in the doorway, alongside the witch, "What the hell happened here?"  
  
Buffy turned to him, calmly. "Angel got a little carried away."  
  
"Looks less like carried, and more like punched," The redhead clarified.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "He couldn't deal with the fact that Spike is human now."  
  
The man made some kind of shocked, demanding information gesture. The redhead smiled. A lot. William shrugged. "All the rage."  
  
"That's great!" the girl shouted, running up to William and hugging him.  
  
William looked down at her and asked simply, "What's your name?"  
  
She stopped and stepped back those giant eyes wide in embarrassment. "Oh, uh, right. Anmesia."  
  
"No, that's what I've got," William explained, "Now let's try for the name, again."  
  
"Oh, right. Willow," she smiled awkwardly. She seemed very confortable with awkwardness, and it was a little confusing.  
  
The man stepped up, offering his hand and a cockeyed smirk. "Xander. Glad to meet the new, human you."  
  
William shook his hand warily. "Yeah, nice to meet the new, pirate you."  
  
Xander shrugged. "It's my new look. Like you and your shockingly natural hair color."  
  
William lifted an eyebrow at him. "Used to be different?"  
  
"Bleached," Willow offered, "It made you all Billy-Idol-ey."  
  
William turned his head a bit. If it worked once...  
  
"In any case, what are we to do about Angel?" Giles asked.  
  
Wesley sighed and knelt next to the sleeping vampire. "I suppose we take him to his room, and hope he's calmer when he wakes up."  
  
"I don't know that I would be," Giles noted.  
  
Wesley shrugged, grabbing Mr. Angel's legs. "We'll have to hope he's not you, then."  
  
As the other Englishmen carried William's new boss away, William pushed his hair back out of habit, and sat at the desk. The seat was still warm from Wesley.  
  
"So," William asked, "What now?"  
  
Buffy sighed. "I need to... go think, or something."  
  
Willow nodded knowingly. "Okay. Xander and I'll take care of Spike for now."  
  
"What about me?" Andrew asked.  
  
William turned to the offending voice and demanded, "Are you still here?"  
  
Andrew grimaced and plopped down beside William. "Can I come with you?"  
  
"Okay," Xander looked, "But first you have to tell us where you're going with us to."  
  
Andrew smiled widely. "Where do you think?"  
  
As Buffy went to pick up her purse, the rest of them just sort of stared at the nerd in question.  
  
"Wal-mart!" he finished.  
  
---  
  
"I should go now."  
  
"Yeah, me, too."  
  
Tanya paused. "Don't you have to wait for him to get back?"  
  
"Nah," Jacob shrugged, retrieving a key from his pocket, "We got an agreement."  
  
"What sort?"  
  
As he shut the front door behind him, Tangerine gave her an unnecessarily wide smile. "Professional courtesy. I help him, he helps me... watch curling."  
  
"Oh," Tanya encouraged, the lock clicking into place, "That sounds... nice."  
  
"He's a nice guy."  
  
Nodding, Tanya turned away, striding purposefully toward the stairs that would lead up to her car. The clanking behind her didn't bother her. When she made her way to car, the clopping on the asphault seemed normal.  
  
But when she sat in the driver's seat, the pulling on the passenger door's handle was amiss.  
  
"Yes?" she asked warily, rolling down the window.  
  
Tangerine smiled innocently, and she thought there was something odd about his mouth. Very odd indeed.  
  
"Say, uh," he eased, "Maybe I don't live too far outta your way?"  
  
Tanya sighed, unlocking the door. "Any friend of William's is a friend of mine."  
  
He chuckled to himself as he latched the seat belt. "Gotta have friends."  
  
---  
  
"And we're doing this now because..." Xander trailed off.  
  
Willow shrugged and pulled the box open. "We're not doing anything better, are we? And anyway, it's just wierd looking at him like that."  
  
"He," William called from the other room, "Is right here."  
  
"Sorry," Willow replied.  
  
"Fine, but are you sure you know what you're doing?" Xander asked.  
  
Willow sort of sighed and gave him one of her bemused faces as she opened one of the flasks. "I've been doing spells for how long now? I like to think I know how to mix things by now."  
  
"Hey!" Andrew exclaimed, turning the corner, "You're doing it all wrong! Geez, I knew this was too much for you."  
  
"Uhh!" Willow protested as he snatched the containers from her hand, "I barely even did anything!"  
  
"I still don't trust you. Besides, I know what I'm doing, so let me do it."  
  
Xander shrugged. "Do you really want to, Wil?"  
  
Willow made a smirky face and rocked her head back and forth. "Well, I guess not... It just... I wanted to be a part of it, you know?"  
  
"I admit, it is a bonding experience," Andrew placated, "But it's very touchy. Let me handle it."  
  
"Goddamn it, you prancing ninnies," William exploded, "Will you hurry up and bleach my hair already?"  
  
---  
  
"Hwah!"  
  
Angel sat up quickly, his vampire eyes easily adjusting to the darkness around him. He was in his room, and his jaw hurt.  
  
"Buffy..." he sighed.  
  
And then the felt the bruise on the other side of his face.  
  
"Spike..." he seethed.  
  
"Careful," a calm voice came from the doorway, "Wouldn't want to have to subdue you. Again."  
  
Angel stood up as the lights flipped on. "Wesley."  
  
Wesley nodded and pushed away from the wall he was leaning on. "Angel, I'm sorry that..."  
  
"Don't bother. There's nothing you can say that will make it better."  
  
Wesley looked at him darkly. "I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew there was nothing you can do to make it better."  
  
And the vampire stopped moving, realization overtaking him.  
  
"Hopefully we can avoid confrontations like this in future."  
  
Angel did something not unlike smiling, but not unlike threatening. "Hopefully..."  
  
---  
  
"See?" Willow motioned towards William, "Much better."  
  
Xander shrugged, seemingly conceding the point. "Not my favorite guy-who-was-and-is-someone-else-now, but it's a good look, I admit."  
  
"Thanks to the hard work of yours truly," Andrew preened, running the comb through William's hair.  
  
Snatching the comb from Andrew's hand, he snapped, "I can comb my own bloody hair, thank you, mommy."  
  
Andrew shied away.  
  
William turned around the room, looking for a mirror. After a moment of realizing there was none in the particular Hotel room they occupied, he moved to the adjoining bathroom, the others in tow.  
  
"Like children, you three are," William noted, combing the hair back, "Playin' with a new toy."  
  
"I wouldn't complain, mister newer and better look," Xander cautioned.  
  
William shrugged, pushing the nigh-white hairs where he wanted them to be. "Gotta admit, it does look better. Though I wish I could remember how to get it into that wavy bit."  
  
"Wavy bit?" Willow asked.  
  
William turned to her and explained, "Yeah, around time Buffy got resurrected. I had it all sorta wavy."  
  
"So..." Willow looked at him, eyes wide, "You wish you had your memory back?"  
  
"Yeah. Damn shame."  
  
She kept looking at him. Then he looked in the mirror. "Oh."  
  
And then he sort of staggered as he realized that he knew who he was. It was all already there before he had realized it, and he was rocked by the recent few months fighting against his past hundred years. The words "of course" were a sore understatement for the sentiment he desperately wanted to express.  
  
"Right," he noted, shakily steadying himself, "That's that, then." 


	9. Afternoon

[Okay, because you demanded it, here's an epiloge of sorts to the old, "Awake." I think an epilogue is the only logical thing to do at this point, so here goes.  
  
Watch for my next effort, which will either be "Buffy the Slayer," which needs a lot, a lot, a lot of work, or a little flashback into season three as recounted by "Year 8" Buffy." If you don't, I'll sic Jacob on you.  
  
-DUNOTS]  
  
Awake: Afternoon  
  
"On your left!" Spike shouted, hurling the spear he'd picked up off the ground.  
  
Angel gave a start and ducked to his left, Spike's right, and straight into the hulking demon who had just stepped into that void. There was a little startled look on Angel's face as the spear lodged into the demon's throat, only inches above Angel's spiky hair.  
  
"Spike," Angel exclaimed after standing up and making a few little chokey noises of disbelief. The starts of words he tried after that apparently didn't work out.  
  
Spike smiled winningly. "Meant my left," he apologized, lighting a cigarette.  
  
Angel sighed very, very deeply. Spike enjoyed it quite a lot.  
  
---  
  
Angel sat at his desk, face in his hands, sort of sighing and grimacing and rubbing at his temples. It was all very funny.  
  
"Spike," he addressed his audience, one hand still on his face, "You really need to work on..."  
  
There was a long pause as Angel thought very hard and moved his hand a bit. The rest of Angel Investigations looked around aimlessly. It was a strange little meeting.  
  
"Not..." Angel continued warily, "attempting to injure me for your own amusement."  
  
Spike looked at him blankly.  
  
Angel stood, a sad sort of look on his face. "Am I getting through to y-" he said quickly, raising a hand, then interrupting himself to turn it toward Wesley, "Am I getting through to him at all?"  
  
Wesley sort of shrugged in deferment. "Personal issues aside, William has been doing a bang-up job as of late. And he hasn't, ah, seriously injured you since..."  
  
"Kidney bit," Spike added helpfully.  
  
Angel turned to look at him balefully and took in one long breath. Lorne tried not to laugh, but nearly failed.  
  
"Got something to say?" Angel asked without looking at him.  
  
Gunn cocked his head. "Just that it's a pretty good show. You two should be in TV."  
  
"Whatever," Angel spat, chopping forward with both hands while turning around to sit back down, "Spike, can we agree to keep the... fun to a minimum?"  
  
Spike smiled with his best foot forward. "If you can't enjoy your work, I guess it can't be helped. One order of employment, easy on the fun, coming right up."  
  
Angel nodded with some effort. "Fine."  
  
As Spike walked out of the office, he could hear Angel note, "See, he always does that."  
  
William didn't smile.  
  
---  
  
"William," a familiar voice called from behind him.  
  
He turned around to see Wesley leaving the front doors of Wolfram and Hart, a typically-stern expression on his face.  
  
"What's up?" William replied, flipping his car keys into his hand.  
  
Wesley sort of rapidly sauntered up, his head tilted a little. "Do you... would you like to go out tonight?"  
  
Spike chuckled, "Oh, Windy, I didn't know you thought of me that way..."  
  
Wesley managed something between and grumble and a sigh and reiterated, "I meant that we could go actually do some socializing this evening. Away from Angel Investigations. As friends."  
  
Spike smiled again. "And you wouldn't really mind if our good outside-Angel-Investigations friend Tanya tagged along, now would you?"  
  
"Er," he smiled, looking not at all flustered, "Yes, that would be nice, too. Just the three of us."  
  
"Four," William corrected, sitting in his car and starting it up with a roar, "Wouldn't wanna explude ol Jake, would we?"  
  
"No," Wesley grimaced, "No we wouldn't."  
  
Spike wanted to say something scathing, but he just drove off with a smile instead.  
  
---  
  
Jacob Tangerine really liked combos.  
  
He had learned this recently, on a trip to the local convenience store. Tanya had bought a package of the things, and given one to him. Thus was a lifelong love affair started.  
  
"Hey," he exclaimed heartily as Tanya sat down next to him, "Combo?"  
  
"Uh, no," she soothed, declining the treat, "We're in a bar, Jacob. Maybe you should lay off on the combos for the time being."  
  
His eyes grew wide and he almost growled. "Hey!" he shot, "I don't tell you what boobs to show off, don't you tell me what cylinders to eat!"  
  
Tanya's jaw fell, and they stared at each other for a few moments: Jacob with a vindicated look, and Tanya completely dumbfounded.  
  
"I'd love to be angry with you," she explained, "But I don't think I can manage it right now."  
  
"I know my audience," he shrugged.  
  
Suddenly, something hit him in the back of the head. Blinking, he turned around to see where it had come from. Several seats down the bar, William and Wesley were sitting together, probably miraculously missing the other pair's entrance.  
  
Jacob shot an mock-angry glare at William, who had another peanut in his hand, which he quickly ate. Jacob scowled and William shrugged, looking around as if to find the culprit. After a moment, he almost smiled and pointed a thumb casually at Wesley, who was busy ordering some kind of drink.  
  
Wesley turned to see William looking down the bar and making fist-in-palm punching motions and gesturing at him. It only took a moment longer for him to look down the bar and realize that Jacob Tangerine was his conspirator in idiocy.  
  
"Whatever you're planning," Wesley said darkly, "I'm well onto you."  
  
"You're onto who now?"  
  
Wesley almost gave a start at Tanya's voice behind him. Breathing in, he turned around on his barstool, the woman's face even with his own.  
  
"Hello, Tanya."  
  
"Wes. William. Been working hard?"  
  
They shared some kind of Look. She had long since given up on deciphering those.  
  
"Don't I always?" he asked.  
  
For all she knew, he did. She shrugged her assent. "Jacob and I have been waiting for you."  
  
"Same here," William continued, "With baited breath."  
  
Sly Brits they were, Wesley managed to elbow William fairly hard without Tanya seeing it, and William managed not to grunt too loud.  
  
"Yeah, what about me?" Jacob tottled over, continuing to consume the baked snacks.  
  
William gave him a stern eyeing and grimaced, "What is it with you and those bloody combos?"  
  
Jacob shrugged. "What is it with you and that stupid hair?"  
  
William looked away a little bit as Wesley joined in, protesting Jacob's continuous imbibing of the food in question. Putting a hand surreptitiously on his hair, William sort of smiled to himself, away from his little group.  
  
It was wierd, at first, but it was his. Not hers, not the other one's, but his own. Something new, and odd, but there nonetheless. Joining back into the fray, he actually smiled all the way.  
  
"Oh, quiet, Wesley," he grinned, "Your tea will be the death of you."  
  
---End. 


End file.
